


Slow, Love

by oneforyourfire



Category: EXO (Band)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-11
Updated: 2018-06-11
Packaged: 2019-05-21 00:44:28
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,816
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14905281
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/oneforyourfire/pseuds/oneforyourfire
Summary: Because Chanyeol is still not good at waiting, not for his own sake, still not quite used to denying himself, but he does, for Kyungsoo he does. So good for him. So good to him.





	Slow, Love

**Author's Note:**

> happy chansoo day, y'all

There’s an edge of desperation in the grip of Chanyeol's fingers, the press of his lips, in the sting of his fingernails, in the blunt pressure of his teeth, an edge of it always when Kyungso doesn’t let him touch, doesn’t let him help—only watch, only see how good Kyungsoo can make himself feel while thinking of him. So, so, fucking good, Yeollie, fuck. Kyungsoo loves how fucking good it is.

Kyungsoo loves, too, the barely contained strength of all his long, lean, straining muscles and the burn of his dark, dazed eyes and the rasp of his moans and the tremble of his fingertips and the quiver of his body.

Don't touch, he urges. Just watch. Just see. Just for you. Slow, slow, _slow_ , babe. _See_.

Because Kyungsoo loves it best like this. Loves the breathless captivation as he waits for him. Because Chanyeol is still not good at waiting, not for his own sake, still not quite used to denying himself, but he does, for Kyungsoo he does. So good for him. So good to him.

Kyungsoo presses his face into Chanyeol's throat, pants as he curls his own fingers, pushes pushes, pushes, the movement slow but slick and sloppy with lube, rough with need.

“Love that cock,” he says, and it jerks against his thigh, and Chanyeol’s harsh moan burns into his collarbone. “Love—hmmm—love getting ready for that cock. Gonna let me have it? _Want_ it."

Chanyeol quivers through another full-bodied, gorgeous moan, his head tossing back against the wall, crashing into their headboard, and Kyungsoo huffs out a laugh, cradles his head to urge him closer. His knuckles scrape against the sunflowers on their wallpaper. And Chanyeol laughs, too, into Kyungsoo’s throat. Kyungsoo drags his fingers through the mess of his hair, tilts his ass back to grind, and Chanyeol moans instead. The ridge of Chanyeol’s cock catches, drags, and Kyungsoo slides his fingers free to stroke once, twice.

“Fuck me," he breathes. Chanyeol’s cock pulses against his skin, hot and heavy and just exactly what he needs.

“Please, can I just— _fuck_ —”

And Kyungsoo twists to grip the base, feels the hot ruined rasp of an impossibly deep, deep moan, the way it sears into his throat as he sinks down.

It still makes him quake, the delicious, distinct aching stretch of every single centimeter pushing inside, the friction nearly too good to bear. The flared head of Chanyeol’s cock stretches, drags just so, and Chanyeol’s hands stumble to his waist, his moan bone-rattling deep.

“Soo-yah,” he pants. Then “Babe, babe, _baby_.”

Kyungsoo scrambles to squeeze his shoulders, rocks forward and back, and fuck, he’s so big, so thick, Kyungsoo can feel the stretch all the way to his toes. Fuck, fuck.

He swivels, rises, drops, and the angle has pleasure jolting up his spine. His head crashes into his own shoulder, jaw slackening with a heavy, helpless moan. Stuffed full, he can barely breathe past the pleasure, barely think past it. Quaking, he lifts, drops, moans, and Chanyeol's groan is so, so gratifyingly broken. His hands squeeze achingly tighter, and Kyungsoo moans again as he twists forward, back.

“Yeollie, love your cock,” he purrs as he pins him to the headboard. Their cheeks skim as he rocks forward and back, fucks, fucks, fucks slow enough to _savor_. Like this, like this, it’s fucking— “Don’t move,” he rasps. “So good. So good—”

Impaled on his cock, stuffed to the brim and loving it, Kyungsoo wants to feel him for days, the barely-contained, quaking need, the too-tight squeeze of his fingers. And oh, Chanyeol could hurt him, really hurt him if he wanted to, fuck him boneless and helpless and breathless and broken, but no, wants to be good, good to him, good for him. Is. Is. Is.

“Soo-yah.”

Their foreheads crash, and he can taste the heat and ruin of Chanyeol’s every frayed little whimper, feel the helpless, restless kiss of his eyelashes against Kyungsoo’s skin, the rumbling quake of his every tremble and his the heat and the heft of his cock. Every helpless little jerk, every minute, dragging shift, the way it pulses and pushes just right. So good. So good for him. So good to him. So fucking good. And he loves, this, fuck, he loves this.

“Please,” Chanyeol whispers, sliding his palms up Kyungsoo’s sides, squeezing there as he blinks up at him all flushed and breathless and dark-eyed and beautiful. “Kyungsoo, _please_.”

“Slow," he urges, and Chanyeol moans into his throat, shifts, coaxes him onto his back. He pulls out slow, slow, slow, pushes in slow, slow, slow and deep and dragging and delicious and dirty and devastating. He quivers through every thrust, arms trembling at Kyungsoo’s sides. And needing it, Kyungsoo pulls him into a kiss, and their teeth clack and his moan tastes so heavy and wet and hot and sticky sweet.

And he loves this, too, squeezes hard at Chanyeol’s biceps as his body trembles with heady, heavy pleasure.

Above him, inside him, Chanyeol shakes with the urge to take him hard, fast, mean, selfish. But he won’t. No, no, he’s too good for him, too good to him, fucks him so good, gonna make him come, Yeollie. He’s gonna make him come.

And his body jolts and his limbs quake and his voice breaks.

“Oh, oh, Chanyeollie. My good, good, Chanyeol.”

“Babe, babe. Baby, _please_.” And his voice is raw and ragged and rough and ruined and hot.

“Slow,” he reminds him. “Love it best when it’s slow. Give it to me. Come on. Come on. Please.”

And it’s those breathtaking, driving, heaving kinds of thrusts, slow and deep, deep, deep. And it’s overwhelming and it’s perfect.

His body rattles with every single fuck forward, and he clings tight to Chanyeol’s straining shoulders as he takes it and takes it and takes it.

Chanyeol kisses clumsily along his collarbone and his throat and licks and bites and pants all the while about how good it is. _Fuck_ , it’s so good, and _fuck_ , Kyungsoo, fuck, he wants—needs—

Kyungsoo tugs on his hair, pulls him even closer, mouthes at his jawline, his cheekbone, settles finally on his ear, and he kisses and licks and bites and urges him in a breathy rush to keep keep keep just like that, thinks he can come if Chanyeol keeps pushing just like that.

His hands stumble down Chanyeol’s body, and he wrenches him forward by the hips, scrapes at his spine when Chanyeol shifts to fuck him that much deeper, that much harder, but still slow, slow, slow. Head tossing back against the edge of the bed, body trembling with it, Kyungsoo relishes in the aching fullness and takes and takes and takes as much as Chanyeol can give.

But more, more, _more_.

“Yeollie,” he rasps. “Yeollie, my Yeollie. Come on, Yeollie. Harder."

Chanyeol’s teeth scrape against his throat, stinging and sharp, and Kyungsoo tangles his fingers there instead, urges him harder as he bares his throat and mouths messily at Chanyeol’s ears, grinds still into his every thrust. Chanyeol pushes hard, hard, hard enough to hurt, and he loves it. Fuck, he loves it.

Chanyeol whimpers brokenly against his throat and bites and fucks and fucks and fucks—so, so, so good. As Kyungsoo scrapes angry, red, demanding lines down the broad expanse of his rolling shoulders, his curling back. Just like that, Chanyeollie. Give it to him just like that.

“Touch me," he chants, and Chanyeol nods furiously into his throat, gropes downward. And fuck even the way the calluses on his palms and the tips of his finger scrape and catch and drag, the way his face crashes into the column of his throat. 

“Please come,” he whimpers. “Fuck, Soo-yah. Baby, baby, please come. Please, _please_.”

He strokes him faster, tighter, more, more desperate, and oh, the weight of his body, the rough scrape of the calluses on his hand, the sweet ruin of his moans, the breathtaking fullness of his cock. “Come on, Kyungsoo, babe. Please babe.”

And it’s faster, faster, tighter, tighter, sharper, sharper, sharper, too, the exploding heat of overwhelming white growing and growing and clawing and snapping and tearing and soaking violent and vibrant and fuck, fuck, fuck—

He gasps out for him, and Chanyeol kisses him, just teeth and tongue and need and need and need. Chanyeol’s broken pants, encouraging moans pour into Kyungsoo’s mouth as he fucks him through every receding pulse of it. And it last and lasts and lasts until he’s wrung completely dry, rendered completely boneless with satisfaction.

And Chanyeol, so wonderfully needy and desperate and looming and _gone_ , rasps out a broken whimper, cradles him closer, pounds into Kyungsoo, splitting him open with every punch of his hips, slow still and deep. It's a bruising, aching collision, pins him to the mattress, has his body trembling from oversensitivity, his lungs heaving, and he loves it, fuck, he loves it, come on, Chanyeollie, give it to him. Come on. He _needs_ it.

Because Kyungsoo, limp with bone-deep, tingling satiation, is greedy for more still, demanding more still—Chanyeol's _everything_. He tilts his hips up, moans in encouragement. And demands and demands and demands. And tugs and bites and moans and clenches, groans weak and wet when Chanyeol finally, finally, finally comes. And fuck, Kyungsoo loves the stuttering pulsing wet heat, the way it stuffs him even fuller. Loves Chanyeol like this, coming like this, slow and sweaty and shuddery and full-bodied and hot and breathless and loud. Chanyeol, his perfect, perfect Chanyeol, quakes and moans and collapses into him, inelegant and so, so gorgeous as he quivers with pleasure.

His come leaks out of Kyungsoo's ass when Chanyeol shuffles weakly back, and Kyungsoo loves that, too, loves the way Chanyeol's fingers stumble down to press it back inside. They bumble higher, too, over the mess on Kyungsoo’s belly, smear it into his skin as he nuzzles into the crook of Kyungsoo’s throat. “You’re so hot,” he groans. “So hot, babe. So beautiful, so—”

He comes easy when Kyungsoo tangles his fingers in his hair, tugs. And their noses bump and their cheeks skim, and Chanyeol shifts to kiss him slow and warm and sweet and clumsy with feeling. Melting, Kyungsoo winds his arms and legs around him to pull him even closer. And Chanyeol melts, too, soft and warm and willing and completely his.

There’s stickiness where their bodies meet and adhere, the lingering scent of sweat and sex and the musk of Chanyeol’s cologne. It clings to his skin, to the sheets plastered to his body, and disgusting as it is, he loves it, loves being this close, needing him this close.

Kissing deep, deep, deeper, Kyungsoo traces over all the flushed, sweaty, strong, beautiful lines of him, savors it if only just for a moment longer—slow, slow, slow.

**Author's Note:**

> s/o again to my beta. thanks for making this less messy!!!
> 
> ~inspired by [this interview](http://fydk-translations.tumblr.com/post/153467517892/vivi-magazine-january-issue-kyungsoo-cuts-part)


End file.
